


These Abundant Skies

by Loveonawirex3



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Illness, Not quite HEA either but not a total UHEA, Occlumency, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Really I just wanted A Walk To Rememeber Dramione so here we are, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Remix, Romance, Wandlore, a walk to remember, but it’s the sweet kind, mild alcoholism, not quite slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26655178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveonawirex3/pseuds/Loveonawirex3
Summary: “Draco Malfoy is asking me for help? Twice in one week? It must be the actual end of the world as we know it.”It pained him. It pained him so much, but who else would be able to help him not make a total fool of himself?Baring his teeth behind his lips to prevent the sneer that wanted to rise he forced out a single terse syllable, “Yes.”“Alright. I’ll help you. But you have to promise you won’t fall in love with me.” Those huge amber eyes held his gaze, completely serious.Draco barely managed to keep himself from dissolving into laughter. Instead, with a disbelieving scoff he said, “That won’t be a problem.”- - - - - - - -After a brief stint in Azkaban and unexpected support at his trial, Draco enters his final year of Hogwarts. He is on probation, and is not to step a toe out of line while dealing with a whole new world. Hermione has a big secret, but she is determined to go about life as normal. Circumstances bring them into the same orbit, and maybe they can teach each other a thing or two about how to make the most out of life.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 61
Kudos: 115





	1. Prologue: Drowning In The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’m just kinda going with this so I hope y’all enjoy. I’ve never written Dramione before, but I needed this to exist.
> 
> Endless gratitude to Misdemeanor1331 for her beta skills. She prevented this from being a jumbled mess. And Mayghaen17 for letting me bounce ideas off of her. Also, thanks and credit to Mimifreed for this graphic and listening to my chatter. They are all so talented and have wonderful works, go check them out!
> 
> Suggested listening/chapter inspiration is Submerge by Movements. I always recommend listening to it first to really get the right feeling for the chapter. Here’s a playlist I’ll update as the chapters post :)
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2TRWGLq5I7rxJDKiQlxulL?si=ZktUloleSqiU6iwZ1iGy3A

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

Rain poured down, echoing in the dingy walls of Draco Malfoy’s prison cell. He stared into the blackness surrounding him with his back huddled against the bars keeping him locked inside. The sun hadn’t quite risen yet, and the sky was beginning to paint a dull shade of grey blue. It wasn’t much light to see by. Just a glow peeking through the open hole in the wall barred with magically enforced steel rods. Not that there was anything to see besides his dreary cell and the crashing waves outside Azkaban’s walls. The elements seemed to be echoing the tone of his internal lament. The chilly precipitation embodying the icy dread of his thoughts and the turbulent waters the seemingly endless anxious ball of energy in the pit of his stomach.

Time flowed impossibly slow here. It felt like he’d been imprisoned for ages, but he knew it had only been a few months at most. The Ministry had swooped on the three Malfoys immediately following the Final Battle, and they’d been detained ever since. Draco hadn’t any idea how either of his parents were faring, although admittedly he was only really concerned for his mother. Narcissa was a woman who could take care of herself, but it seemed almost anything went these days for those who had been tainted by the darkness.

His days were filled with a whole lot of nothing. Humming to himself, reciting potion recipes and trying to use his slightly photographic memory combined with his previously excellent study habits to recall entire books in his mind. Draco didn’t have his wand, and although he happened to be talented at wandless magic anyone stupid enough to use it against the guards or others found themselves bound with magic dampening shackles.

At least he still had his Occlumency to keep himself sane.

It seemed ironically fitting to him, that the day of his doom brought a raging storm.

His whole life, Draco’s internal mind space was a sky over a sea. He’d always imagined it that way, and, being a natural Occlumens, it was only a matter of time before his Occlumency techniques reflected that.

Before, it was mostly fluffy clouds in an overcast sky that just allowed the sun to peep out in small bursts. That was his base setting, what his mind looked like when he was having an average day. The cotton balls would wisp away into fast, ominous clouds spitting precipitation into crashing waves when he was sad or upset. Sheets of ice pelting the surface of the dark water, if he was scared or in a particularly cruel mood. Sometimes it would hail the size of Snitches when he was overwhelmed by contempt or couldn’t help but lash some of that cruelty outwards. It would snow gently if he was attempting to remain cold and collected. That was supposed to be a Malfoys default, so Draco was used to a near constant dusting of powdery snow. Freezing rain kept him wet and cold when he was drowning in bitter angst or self loathing- tiny frozen pieces splintering like shards of glass in the surface his mind.

There was typically a thick fog covering the vast horizon when he was distracted or dragging through the days. Lightning would sometimes crack the endless sky, large bolts or simmering flashes to match his anger, occasionally accompanied and enhanced by thunder. The thunder seemed to accentuate any intense emotion he was experiencing, like warning bells when his gut felt something was off or an approving rumble to a loud boom when he was feeling passionate. Twisters and cyclones weren’t uncommon when he was in pain or experiencing an intense emotion. The ocean floor would tremble and crack when things he tried to lock away or keep out would start to crumble through. Wind whipped around in all of these states, stirring shit up and making it all worse. The wind seemed to ebb and flow of it own accord. It didn’t always match the rest of his emotional and mental climate. 

That was before.

Now, Draco couldn’t recall a day when the sky in his head was semi clear or bright. The light was always partially hidden, if visible at all. The clouds thickened when he was presented with a situation that required him to hold back or shut down his emotions. If he succeeded, the dense masses would dissipate and a slight illumination would whisper through while the sky remained a backlit grey sometimes enhanced by a film of powdery snow. If he failed, the sea floor would fracture and the clouds would break open in various ways depending on the particular emotion he was battling.

After months of isolation except for the guards who brought him food and took him to bathe, he’d begun retreating into the storm often. Draco’s heart and head were flooded, and he gladly submerged himself in the tempest. Why not drown in the darkness? It was the least he deserved. He couldn’t keep track anymore of whether it was sleet or snow or plain raindrops. All he knew was that his mind was freezing, damp and filled with guilt. His mind’s currents whirled, stirring up the murky depths of his subconscious.

Draco didn’t remember the last time he’d seen his internal sun shine, even behind a cloud. He couldn’t even remember the last time a jolt of lightening had pierced the sky.

Dark. Drab. Damp.

Damned.

The blond wizard was going to receive his sentencing today. They’d pushed it off, no doubt intending to make him suffer over the impending judgement. The guillotine swaying over his head ensured he was always slightly on edge. But mostly, he was resigned. Might as well get used to this cell, because more than likely he’d be spending the rest of his days here. Draco couldn’t see any alternative outcome.

His mother would probably be fine. Draco had only a hasty conversation with her before they’d been separated. She’d told him she’d helped saved Potter out of her desire to get back to Draco and ensure his safety. He did not know the details, but surely that alone would at least prevent Narcissa from getting a life sentence or a Kiss.

A shudder ran through his thinner than usual frame at the thought of those vile creatures. The Ministry had complete control over the Dementors once again, and Draco was grateful that they didn’t have free roam of the prison’s walls; if they had, he was sure his time in Azkaban would have hit new levels of misery. Not that there was a whole lot of happiness to suck out of him, anyhow.

The Kiss was his fate, he was sure of it. He was responsible for the death of Albus Dumbledore- the near death of multiple students thanks to his clumsy assassination attempts, outsmarting the castle and letting the Death Eaters in to attack innocents, and countless other misdeeds. Like all of the Unforigiveables and taking the Mark, against his will or not. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. Who knew what would have happened had he not done all of those things? Maybe Dumbledore would still be alive, and the War never would have happened.

Would his soul feel clean then?

For someone supposedly so pure, Draco sure felt like filth.

He hadn’t wanted to kill Dumbledore. He hadn’t _wanted_ to kill anyone. He had thought he would be capable of it. Draco had been steeped in Dark magic and prestige his entire life, practically groomed to become a man of questionable integrity and grey moral. It was how the Malfoys had always been. Lucius failing and the Dark Lord taking Draco as retribution had only lead him farther down the dark path.

He hadn’t wanted to kill his Headmaster. Sure, Dumbledore was a meddling, disillusioned buffoon as far as Draco was concerned. However, despite Draco usually showing disdain with a modicum of required respect for Dumbledore in school situations, the old man had never been anything but kind and fair to him. 

Even at the end. 

Cringing, Draco curled further into himself and rested his forehead against the edge of his cot. It didn’t change a thing, that it hadn’t been his hand to strike the man down. Draco couldn’t help but feel mostly responsible. After all, Snape only stepped in to save Draco’s skin. If only Snape and the rest of those bloodthirsty psychopaths had been even a minute later, maybe things could have been different. Maybe he could have accepted Dumbledore’s offer and found the light.

Draco laughed out loud at the thought, the bitter sound ricocheting off the stone walls surrounding him. Yeah, right. Like that would have worked out. Like anyone would have trusted him. Like they’d actually have tried to save his mother from that literal snake of a man.

The clang of a door hitting the wall echoed down the hall accompanied by a small light. Draco stiffened immediately and snapped out of his head enough to listen. The footsteps were headed straight towards him. Today was the day, after all. 

When the burly guard stepped up to the bars, commanding him to stand back and raise his hands into the air Draco scrambled to obey. His mind was already so sodden that he didn’t have any will to resist left in him, and he didn’t fancy getting hit before he was presented to the court. Draco glanced down at himself, taking in his ragged prisoner jumpsuit. The contrasting stripes stood out starkly against his skin, nearly translucent from having not seen the sun nor having any proper nutrition in months. He fought the anxious urge to run his hand through his hair- it was mucked with grime, hopelessly tangled and falling near his chin. 

The candle sconces outside his cell flared to life. The guard whispered a _“Nox”_ as he waved his wand to widen the bars. He stepped towards Draco with a satisfied expression. It wasn’t hard to understand the spiteful glee on the mans face as he manhandled Draco out of the opening in the bars. 

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

The wind started swirling in his head as the waters worked into a frenzy, coupling with sleet heavy with sick anticipation and fear. 

********************************************

By the time Draco’s numb feet, half dragged by the guard, made it to the Ministry courtroom thick clouds were rolling around in his internal, starless sky. The sea swirled wickedly; walls of water as tall as buildings rising and collapsing, only to reform again. The nauseating feeling of being sucked into a Portkey and spat back out again only intensified his internal circumstances. He vaguely recalled excited shouts and flashes of lights as the guard pulled him through the halls.

Panic started to rise. Draco felt he’d done a stellar job of not losing control thus far. He’d been too lost within himself to panic. It all just blended together into chaos.

Being here now, with his inevitable ruin within grasp, changed things. Draco felt overwhelmed by the tempest inside of him, eaten by guilt and frozen by shame. It grew and morphed, making room to accommodate the crippling fear of the Dementors Kiss. Or a life in a cell, where the final outcome was a slow descent into madness. 

Absurd that, with all the wrathful winds whipping around in his head, there seemed to be no air in his lungs. 

He couldn’t breathe. Everything was desolate and suffocating and he had no idea how to navigate a world in which he wasn’t at the top. Where he had not a single ally, other than his mother. Where everything was dark and devoid of meaning.

A world which rightfully despised him.

Because of the nature of his crimes during the war and the continued recovery of the Wizarding world from it, he didn’t have any defense. Only what he could think of to try to save himself. Death Eater trials hardly ever had defense cases. Some tried to defend themselves or hire someone slick with the law who was also brave enough to defend a Death Eater.

Hardly anyone was.

Most trials were pretty black-and-white. Evil of this kind was to be punished. Draco hadn’t bothered to hire legal help outside of their standard family magical law representative, and even he didn’t dare try to defend the youngest Death Eater in history. Why bother? The evidence was clear. 

No amount of Malfoy money could save him now.

As the rugged guard secured him to a hard and uncomfortable chair in the center of the courtroom, Draco stared down at his bare, dirty feet. He didn’t dare look up at the gathered members of the Wizengamot. He felt far away from and yet irritatingly aware of his surroundings. It was a good thing that it was relatively dark in the room because after existing essentially in isolation for a few months, being in the presence of so many was like getting submerged in icy water after a lukewarm shower.

At least in his cell he didn’t feel like there was a shining beacon on him.

The cold metal shackles on his wrists and ankles bit into his skin, but Draco was almost grateful for the pain. It helped anchor him into reality, instead of allowing him to slip blissfully and completely into the wilds of his mind. He tried to force his head to clear and think but it was a struggle.

His trial was last out of his family. His father went first, followed by his mother. His legal representative had told him as much when he’d visited him a few weeks prior to provide the details of what was to follow. And to basically tell Draco that he was fucked and there was nothing he could truly do to help. Facts were facts, and going down with a sinking ship simply wasn’t pragmatic.

The lawyer needn’t have bothered. As if Draco could do anything but sit there weighed down by the dread, stewing in it. Regardless of the outcome it would be over and done with after today. At least there was that. No more floating in limbo wondering what twist this life would throw at him next.

The room quieted at the sound of the gavel. Draco hadn’t been aware of how loud it had been until the buzzing in his ears faded to complete silence. It was jarring.

Kingsley Shacklebolt rose from the Chief Warlock chair, tilting his head and gazing down at Draco with a curious and open expression. Shacklebolt’s mouth moved and words came out, but when Draco realized he wasn’t being directly spoken to his eyes dropped to the floor again. He didn’t care if he looked weak or demure. There was not an ounce of fight or defiance left in him. 

The Minister presented the case and evidence to the other members, which hardly seemed necessary because anyone who was anyone must have known all the dirty details by now. Every one of his sins laid bare for all to see. When his name was called, he lifted his chin and met the Ministers dark eyes through his lashes. Proudly glaring at the man seemed unwise.

“Draco Malfoy do you understand what it is you are here today to answer for?”

The amazement at being directly addressed and spoken to in a non-demeaning manner for the first time in months shook Draco for a moment before he nodded. “Yes, I do Minister.”

His voice was quiet and scratchy, a long way from the boisterous young man he once was. He tried to remember the last time he’d spoken out loud, even to himself. He couldn’t recall.

“Good. Do you have anyone you’d like to call to the stand as a witness on your behalf?”

“No, Minister.” Who the hell would speak on his behalf? Was there a single person in Wizarding Britain who wasn’t of the firm belief that a good portion of the blame for all of it rested on his shoulders? It was almost laughable to even think that a possibility.

Apparently there was though, because the next words out of Shacklebolt’s mouth nearly knocked Draco out of his own skin in surprise. “Very well. As it happens, there are some here of their own accord. Harry Potter, please come forth.”

Draco was positive his jaw was on the floor. Surprise so strong it bordered incredulity rippled through him as the messy haired boy wonder strode by from somewhere behind Draco. Potter stopped a few feet ahead of him, off to the side and facing the Wizengamot. He spared a glance Draco’s way and was met with a confused mercurial stare. Harry shot the blond a brief encouraging grin that honestly baffled Draco even more before straightening himself and becoming the picture of serious.

“Proceed, Harry,” came Shacklebolt’s gentle prod.

“Thank you, Kings-err, Minister.” Potter paused, pressing his glasses up his nose before steeling his shoulders. “I just came here to make sure justice was served where it is due.” 

Draco’s stomach plummeted impossibly further before Potter spoke again. “And that revenge is not taken where it is not deserved. I won’t go into some grand speech about what is right and wrong. We all just survived a war. I’d like to think most of us left standing have a desire to move on and make sure nothing like this ever happens again. The man behind me, while yes admittedly raised to be prejudiced, does not deserve a life sentence of Azkaban or the Kiss.”

Potter paused for a moment to collect himself and allow his words to sink in. A Bowtruckle shifting its arms could have been heard in the tense silence before he continued calmly. His black robes billowed around his lanky form as he moved his arms as he talked. “We all made some difficult choices before and during the war. Some of them weren’t always the best choices. I am guilty of that. I saw this man in distress, and I attacked him in a school bathroom with a spell I didn’t even know but that almost ended up killing him. And here I stand, free as can be. So if you think his actions deserve lifelong punishment, you’d better lock me up too because I made a foolish decision at the same age Mal-uh, Draco was when he fixed that cabinet. His unwilling decision led to awful things, yes. And my uninformed decision left him lying in a puddle of blood.”

One of the Wizengamot members opened her mouth, but a glare from Potter had her shutting it hastily.

Draco still hadn’t moved a muscle.

“A wise man once told me, sometimes we must choose between what is easy and what is right. To some of us, the right thing is always clear. Some will take the easy route because it is the least difficult thing to do. Draco had many choices to make, in which the right thing wasn’t always attainable at no cost. Would you sacrifice your mother? For anyone? Because I lived my whole life without mine, and if I had a chance for even a moment longer with her I think I would do anything for it. I think most of you would, too. Draco couldn’t do anything other than what he did, at risk to his own life and his mothers. He had many opportunities over the course of the Final Battle to kill me if he’d wanted to. I saved him from a burning room, he could have stabbed me in the back while I was riding us out of there and —“

Recognizing Potter’s increasingly impassioned tone, Shacklebolt cleared his throat and the raven haired savior smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry. In conclusion, don’t lock Draco up or give him to the Dementors. Being a prat or being forced to do bad things doesn’t mean someone is evil. I was there that night with Dumbledore in the Astronomy Tower. Draco lowered his wand.”

Draco was almost too floored by this revelation to register the shocked gasps from the other members of the jury. Potter was there? Where had he been?

Surely, he would have at least tried to stop Draco that night if he’d been able to.

Surely, this wasn’t actually happening right now. He wished he could pinch himself but he couldn’t will his hands into motion. Salazar, was this really happening?

Shacklebolt considered this for a long moment. “Harry, would you be willing to provide that memory and submit to questioning under Veritaserum for evidence?”

Potter, recognizing that his words had had the desired affect, nodded emphatically which made his glasses slip down again. He reflexively pushed them back up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. “I would.”

“Is that all, Harry?”

“Yes, Minister.” 

“You are dismissed then. Thank you for your testimony, and if you would, stop into the DMLE and provide that evidence on your way out of here today.” Shacklebolt smiled warmly at the boy who saved the world. With a nod, Potter turned and started to head out of the courtroom. Despite the incredible thing Potter had just done for him— _because_ of the incredible thing Potter had just done for him— Draco burned with abashment and couldn’t bring himself to look at him on his way out even though he sensed those peculiar emerald eyes on him.

Draco had never done anything but prod at Potter and always set to bring him down. Mess with his plans to get him in trouble every chance he’d had. And here Potter was, testifying for him when he gained nothing out of it except maybe a tarnish to his reputation. 

Potter wouldn’t mind though. He just did what he wanted and couldn’t care less what people thought. And who would have the stones to go against Harry Potter at this point anyways?

He sat blinking at the ground and trying to absorb everything that had just happened when Shacklebolt’s voice cut through the room again.

And Merlin, if Draco had been shocked to hear Harry’s name, it was nothing compared to when Kingley’s words registered. He was utterly astounded.

“If no one has anything to add that is relevant to this cases proceedings, we will move on to the next witness. Hermione Granger, please come forward.”

Draco’s unseeing gaze snapped up and into focus as soon as he’d heard her name.

Granger strode into his field of vision, her nose tipped up and the set of her jaw confident. She was wearing Muggle clothing, oddly enough. Flared slacks and a matching blazer of pastel lavender over a cream blouse with little ruffles around her collarbone. Kitten heels in a darker shade of purple clicked with each step. She stood out like a two headed Centaur amongst the lackluster robes filling the space beyond her form. 

Everything about her was put together. Sleek, even.

Except her wand was in her hair.

It was piled atop her head with the vine wood stuck through it, tendrils of curls escaping as if she hadn’t remembered to tame the beast of a mane to match the rest of her appearance and been rushed to think of a solution.

It was like she was trying to scream that she was Muggleborn. Trying to prove a point, no doubt.

What was she doing here? Potter testifying made a bit of sense if he reached for it. His mother had prevented Potters non-death from being discovered and he could see how the man would feel obligated to help her son in return. It was the sort of thing a hero like Potter did.

Hermione Granger testifying for him was absolutely bonkers. It was the kind of thing her bleeding Gryffindor heart would do, but for him? Draco had only ever been unnecessarily vicious to her. He’d stood by, doing nothing as she was tortured on the floor of his childhood home.

He absolutely had to be hallucinating. Maybe this whole trial so far was some demented dream and he was still cold and alone in his cell.

But then she stopped moving, set her shoulders much the same way Potter had and met Draco’s eyes. 

He hadn’t realized that he’d been holding his breath until it left him in a whoosh. The ever present spark of her fiery soul reflected back at him in pools of chocolate. The fact that it was currently stoking itself to do the unthinkable and defend him made his chest tighten in an unknown emotion as a tornado raged in his mind.

Draco couldn’t break eye contact even though he longed to. He felt frozen in place, as if he could move the wrong way and shatter what had to be an illusion. He must look like a fool just staring at her.

Granger smiled at him. Just a tiny flash of teeth before she turned to the Wizengamot, all business. A fierce expression overtook her features.

“Proceed, Hermione.” Shacklebolt waved his hand in her direction, gesturing she had the floor.

Granger contemplated her words for only a moment before her voice rang out, clear and strong. “Thank you, Minister. I’m here today to show, without a doubt, that Draco Malfoy does not belong in Azkaban. Nor does he deserve to receive a Dementor’s Kiss. The things he is being charged with were all done under duress. He was a child at the time, and should be judged as such for the acts. Especially because there are moments in my memory as well that will prove he is not as evil as some would like you to believe.”

Shellshocked did not begin to cover the looks on the majority of the Wizengamot members face when she paused. Some didn’t seem surprised, and some stared at Hermione with open hostility and skepticism.

No one had the stones to talk back to Potter. Despite the fact that Draco was on trial for crimes that originated from a madman obsessed with blood purity he himself didn’t possess, Wizarding Britain was at its core archaic, patriarchal and traditional.

They would be less likely to be silent with Granger, even in a post Voldemort world.

The same witch who had tried to interrupt Potter opened her mouth, but this time she didn’t have the Chosen One’s glower to stop her. Her face was almost amused.

“What memory would that be, Miss Granger? I was under the impression that you and Mr. Malfoy’s relationship was purely antagonist and volatile in nature.”

Granger didn’t miss a beat, shifting her weight a little and meeting the middle aged woman dead on. She faced the Wizengamot, so Draco could only see her in profile, but she still had that same resolved demeanor. “You’re correct, Mrs. Walker. Draco and I never said a kind word to each other, and in fact I punched him in the face once because he was being a right git. On the night of the Quidditch World Cup of 1994, the Dark Mark appeared in the sky. We were young, just about to enter Fourth Year. Harry, Ron, and I were separated from the rest of the Weasleys in the chaos, and we ran into Draco. He said, and I quote, “ _Hadn’t you better be hurrying along now? You wouldn’t want her spotted would you? They’re looking for Muggles._ ” He didn’t say it very nicely, but he warned us. He warned me. He all but told me to hide.”

Draco didn’t currently have space inside of him for embarrassment. Granger announcing before the court that she’d hit him in Third Year hardly seemed to matter . He was trying to wrap his head around the fact that Granger even remembered that moment at the World Cup. Then again, most likely nothing ever escaped that brain of hers.

He didn’t need a Pensive to remember his sneered words.

“ _D’you want to be showing your knickers off midair?”_

_“Keep that big bushy head down, Granger.”_

He didn’t know why he’d done that. Even then, a part of him had been sickened at the idea that it could be her held up high in the sky, screaming. His stomach had already turned at the sight of the two small Muggle children in the air. Draco believed at the time that purebloods were better, and that he as a Malfoy was best. However regardless of blood, children were children. Something about it just didn’t sit right with him and he’d moved away from it so he didn’t have to look. Draco knew that was cowardly; he was expected to be gleeful at the chaos that was happening all around them and what it meant.

But when he had seen the trio stumbling around, being way too loud and causing enough commotion to draw his attention he’d crept towards them. The image of that bushy hair dangling haphazardly in the air while her limbs flailed and her blood dripped to the ground had assaulted his thoughts, and he had stepped forward and opened his mouth.

In the mental image that had spurred him to warn Granger despite the fact that he’d been raised to loathe everything she was, her blood was red. Just like his and every other wizard or witch he’d ever seen. At the time he hadn’t wanted to think about that too much.

Even only seeing her profile, now that he’d been looking for a bit he noticed that she looked a little paler than usual. Was it the lighting in here causing those dark circles under her eyes? The undeniable spark that seemed to always be within her was present, but dimmer. Not quite as vivacious as usual. But her voice and presence were as strong as ever. Draco wondered what would have such a visible affect on the lioness, and again why she would bother coming to the defense of a worthless cretin like him.

“And what of the night of your capture at Malfoy Manor?”

Draco’s heart stopped at those words. He sat stock still and watched as an shaken expression took over Granger’s face for a moment before she steeled herself again.

The Golden Girl, spreading her warmth as far as she could reach even at her own expense. 

“What of it?” Granger asked with a blink, her tone icy and daring any of the Wizengamot to delve into that horrid evening and use it against her.

A different member jumped into the conversation, this time a middle aged man with a twist set across his lips. Whether that sneer was directed at the situation in general, or at Granger for defending Draco was unclear. He leaned forward, locking eyes with the Muggleborn. “Were you not tortured at the Malfoy Manor for information?”

Granger crossed her arms over her rib cage, one hand pressing into her left forearm where the slur was carved permanently into her skin.

Draco watched the motion and nearly recoiled at the mental images assaulting him. Her screams of anguish and soft whimpers of pain were as clear as if he’d just heard them.

Thunder rolled and boomed within him as the walls of water grew higher.

He remembered that, when Bellatrix had cut into her arm, she had indeed bled red. Not muddy brown. Crimson, just like him. Just like he’d suspected it would since that night at the Cup.

And then, also just like him, she was branded, too.

A reminder of the darkness that had tried to snuff out her life and ensure her suffering just for existing.

He remembered standing by idly, horrified by the sight of her but paralyzed and unable to think of anything to be done. Granger had locked her gaze with his a few times, and he had just stared back helplessly as pain leaked from her eyes and burst from her mouth. Although he’d wanted to, he’d refused to look away from her. He could acknowledge her pain. It was all he could do for her.

It was impressive how she had held out under the seemingly endless _Crucio’s_ of his psychotic aunt, holding firm. Draco had wondered where strength like that came from.

Was one born like that? Or did experiences shape a person into it?

Maybe if Draco had even a portion of that kind of strength, that night could have gone differently. Everything could have gone differently.

A piercing slew of freezing rain mercilessly pelted down, glittering in the sky of his mind until Draco felt like filth. Disgusted with himself. With all that he had stood for. With all the pain he had caused.

After a moment, Granger collected herself and scoffed. “That was hardly Draco’s fault. Nor was there anything anyone could have done in that moment. Would you have had him stand up to a room full of Death Eaters? His own family? Do you think that would have changed anything? It would have done no good other than endanger another life. Draco had already done all he could that night. In fact, if he hadn’t refused to identify Harry, we could all be dead right now. That moment would have completely turned the war in the Death Eaters’ favor, because Voldemort would have had a wandless and trapped Harry Potter at his mercy.”

Draco almost choked on his own spit, and a guttural sound of disbelief left him before he could stop it. His indifference to help either side had impacted the tide of war that much? Impossible. He hadn’t done anything. Faced with the decision after endless months of seeing what life would be like if the Dark Lord won, he just hadn’t wanted Potter to lose in that moment. Hadn’t wanted to be responsible for more useless death.

Granger threw a half annoyed, half oddly concerned look his way before flicking her gaze back to the man. “Like Harry said, if Draco had done it of free will and ill intent he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill Dumbledore. But he wasn’t. He didn’t do anything to Dumbledore at all.” Hermione took a breath before forging on. “Draco could have told the Death Eaters where we were before we’d even known he was there the night of the Quidditch Cup. That’s what someone dedicated to the cause would have done. Someone who was reluctant to commit actual evil should not be punished the same as those who did so with joy.”

Her mouth snapped shut and the cross of her arms became more defiance than the previous defensive. So matter-of-fact, daring any of them to argue with her.

In that moment, Hermione shone.

Draco would swear on his magic that he could literally see the aura of energy surrounding the wild haired brunette. It was so bright that it hurt his eyes momentarily, but then he blinked and it was gone. She still seemed somehow illuminated to him, as if he’d been looking through an unfocused telescope and suddenly it was crystal clear.

He was still pretty sure he was hallucinating this whole thing.

Draco blinked once more and remembered who they both were. He, an utter failure who didn’t fit in anywhere. Not with the good side or the bad side. Not really.

Too cowardly to do anything right. Too guilt ridden to do anything truly wrong.

Locked up in a cage with no hope for redemption or a second chance.

Except that the Wizarding savior and this girl who he did nothing but give hate and hell for years believed he deserved one.

Potter had saved him once already, from the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement. He didn’t seem to be able to help himself from rushing in to save people if there was the slightest chance.

Granger was just standing up for what she believed was right. She was a beacon of all that was good.

It was best he look away from that light lest he get burned.

Steely grey orbs lowered, focusing on a spot at the bottom of the Wizengamot’s podium. The shame that had roiled when Potter spoke for him grew. He didn’t have a chance to drown in it very long before he was pulled out of his reverie by the deep baritone of Shacklebolt’s voice.

“I assume you would would be willing to provide these memories for inspection and submit to questioning under Veritaserum?”

Granger uncrossed her arms, and gave a firm nod. “Yes, of course.”

“Do you have anything else to say on Mr. Malfoy’s behalf, Hermione?”

Draco could feel her eyes on him. He knew the exact second she must have turned her face his way. And just like with Potter, Draco couldn’t bring himself to lift his head. If he did, she would see the pitiful creature inside. He didn’t know what difference it truly made.

She’d always seen right through him, anyways.

After another moment of painful silence passed, Granger spoke. “No, Minister. Thank you.”

Her little heels clicked across the floor as she exited the room. The sound seemed to echo in Draco’s thoughts until they were out of earshot. 

The room remained quiet and tense long after Granger’s footsteps had disappeared. Draco felt dazed. He could hardly process the events that had just taken place. It took him a minute to gather his wits and look up at the Wizengamot.

Shacklebolt must have cast a Silencing spell over the area because the members were avidly talking, a few mouths moving at once. Draco felt sick and dropped his gaze.

He couldn’t watch.

He didn’t want to allow himself to hope. It would be a foolish thing to do. Draco had already accepted his damnation. Very unwise indeed it would be to let something like hope burst through his walls.

Yet it bloomed in Draco uncontrollably. It terrified him.

Despite his best efforts, a small bit of light appeared behind the clouds in his mind. Not enough to peek through, just to enlighten the wide expanse a little. He tried to cling to the raging waters and howling winds, but even those seemed to mellow out in small increments.

After what must have only been about ten minutes but seemed like an eternity, Shacklebolt dropped the Silencing spell and faced the blond wizard. Draco saw the movement in his peripheral, swallowed and met the piercingly dark eyes of the Minister of Magic.

“The verdict is in. After much debate and discussion, it has been decided that you will not be going to Azkaban, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco inhaled heavily through his nose, his eyes widening to what he was positive were comical proportions. The breath seemed to catch in his lungs, rattling around before shakily expelling, repeating the cycle as he waited in awe for the Minster’s next words.

“You will, however, be on probation for the next three years with travel outside of Britain restricted unless approved by the Ministry. You will attend Hogwarts for the completion of your final year with a mark requirement of Acceptable or above. Anything below that and you will be immediately expelled and the terms of your probation void.” Shacklebolt took a moment to allow his words to sink in.

Draco blinked hazily.

“Do not make me regret this, Mr. Malfoy. I will throw you in Azkaban if you give me a worthy reason. Is that clear?” 

Somehow, Draco found it within himself to bob his head weakly. The thunder in his mind rumbled in indignation before being smothered by crushing gratitude. He stumbled over his own tongue. Should he thank him? The words wouldn’t come. “Y-yes, Minister.”

Shacklebolt waved his wand, and the shackles around Draco’s wrists and ankles released and fell to the ground beside him. “You’re free to go. You’ll be hearing from your probation official soon. Do stay out of trouble.”

Hesitantly, Draco rose to his feet. He didn’t move right away, fearing that it was some kind of joke. When no one moved to stop him, Draco turned his back on the Minister’s amiable face, which was surrounded by a mixture of curious and mildly outraged expressions. One foot slowly stepped away, and the other followed. On and on until he was at the doorway to the hall.

He was slightly worried he was going to faint. Draco felt like Icarus. He’d seen the blinding light of the sun and flown too close to it. Everything was going to crash and burn around him. This couldn’t be real. He couldn’t actually be walking out of this courtroom to freedom right now.

Restricted freedom, but freedom nonetheless.

Once outside the massive courtroom doors, Draco stopped and took in his surroundings without really seeing any of it. What was he supposed to do now? Floo home? He couldn’t Apparate. Would anyone even be there, or were both of his parents already rotting in a cell?

The surreal haze never faltered and it kept Draco shaken and unsure. There didn’t seem to be anyone outside of the court proceedings allowed in the hallway right now. He was sure that was because of the high-profile people that had been in and out of the court all day. No doubt the outer halls of the Ministry were swamped with the reporters he’d seen in his daze earlier.

It’s not like two thirds of the Golden Trio testified for a teenage Death Eater every day.

Speaking of the bespectacled wizard, a tuft of unruly black hair suddenly appeared in his line of sight. Draco focused his vision for the umpteenth time today.

“I guess it worked if you’re walking out of there on your own instead of in chains.” Potter grinned at him, not for the first time today. Draco did pinch himself in the fleshly outside of his forearm this time.

Ouch.

Potter laughed, bringing a hand up to clap him on the shoulder. Draco fought the urge to cower away from the contact, staring curiously at the raven haired man before him as the hand dropped. Draco’s gaze flickered around behind Potter, searching for the witch he expected to be right behind him. Potter must have realized what he was doing. “She had to go, had somewhere really important to be.” A haunted look flashed over emerald eyes before they shuttered. The slight amusement sparkled there once more. “I stayed to find out what happened for the both of us. And to give you this.”

Draco gasped when his old hawthorn wand was pressed into his palm. His fingers curled around the familiar wood, but something was off. It was like trying to force a puzzle piece into the wrong slot. Like trying to shove a square into a circle. It just didn’t fit.

Huh. The wand must have realigned its loyalties for good when Potter took it from him at the Manor. It didn’t feel right in his hands at all, a tainted part of his past that had no place anymore.

It bothered him less than it probably should have.

Draco wondered how he was supposed to act in this situation. Potter was offering an olive branch. More than offering an olive branch, he was giving Draco a tiny chance at something new.

The blond realize he should definitely thank _him_.

He placed the wand back in Potter’s palm and pushed his fingers closed. The sea within was the calmest it had been all day, and a gust of fresh, salty air breezed through his overcast sky. Draco managed to curve his lips into a grateful smile and found his voice.

“Thanks, Potter. For everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost everything in this story follows book canon but for the purpose of the plot, going with Harry snapped the Elder Wand like in the movie and Hermione has the ‘Mudblood’ scar. It will probably be a blend of the cannons to be honest. Reviews are always appreciated, constructive criticism is welcome!
> 
> I’m not sure what the update schedule will be. I have the first four/five chapters done and the entire thing outlined. Thanks for reading!


	2. If There’s One Thing Bigger Than My Head, It’s The Distance I’ve Been Mislead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is feeling a little sorry for himself and gets an unexpected pick me up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I can’t believe the wonderful response to this! I was so thrilled by it that I decided to update early :) bear with me while I figure out the formatting. I made my first moodboard as you will see below too :D 
> 
> Suggested listening/chapter inspiration is Made Too Pretty by As Cities Burn. As usual I recommend listening to it first to get the feel. Spotify playlist link in the first chapter :) 
> 
> Beta love to Misdemeanor1331. Thanks for dealing with me <3

[ ](https://ibb.co/wSdqR14)

  
The weather in Wiltshire was depressing, although it didn’t matter all that much because Draco was already feeling low. It hadn’t been as easy to readjust to life outside of Azkaban as he’d expected it to be.

He didn’t feel like himself. He hardly had any clue who he was now in this new world, after all the awful things he’d been through. The guilt never ceased beating down on him. For years, the weight of the world coupled with his inability to do anything useful had been resting on his shoulders. He’d never imagined he’d make it out of all of that alive. Now that all the dogma he’d had beaten into him his whole life turned out to be utter bullshit, who was he supposed to be?

Draco found himself at the bottom of a bottle of Firewhisky most days. He knew it was not the healthiest coping mechanism, but the icy waters and sleet battering around inside his mind were bitter and painful. The Firewhisky’s burn seemed to bring a bit of balance even as it disoriented him.

It’s not like he had anything better to be doing with his freedom. Anytime he thought about going out in the public eye a debilitating combination of anxiety and shame filled him. Draco knew he should probably reach out to his friends. They wouldn’t treat him like a pariah.

Would they?

Pale fingers gripped the neck of the alcohol tighter and brought it to his scowling mouth. Draco’s long legs were sprawled out in front of him, knees bent and bottom on the damp grass as he solemnly watched the murky sky. The rain misted over his face, light enough not to soak through clothing if one didn’t dally in it.

He, however, had been sitting outside long enough to be sodden, the fabric of his long sleeved black shirt sticking to the skin of his arms and chest. His slacks had been wet right through since he’d sat down, taking a break from his mindless flying around the Manor grounds.

Drinking, flying and moping. That was pretty much the itinerary of his dragging days.

Three weeks had passed since his trial. Three long, empty weeks where Draco couldn’t find something to give a shit about to save his life. Which was pretty ironic, considering that saving his own skin was what had gotten him into the clusterfuck of a situation that was his life now.

It still was hard to wrap his head around. Not only that he was free barring any future fuck ups, but that Potter and Granger had come to his rescue. It hurt his head to try to puzzle out the sense behind it when he reflected on all that had happened.

Potter had offered to Apparate him to the Manor in order to avoid the press inevitably waiting to swoop on either of them like vultures. Draco had felt a prickle of concern. If his mother had had a good outcome for her trial wouldn’t she have fetched him?

Not seeing another option- and why bother to find one because Potter had already stepped up for him anyways?- Draco had accepted Potter’s endless generosity. With a quick walk to the closest Apparition point and with a crack his home had been before him for the first time in months.

The home that had begun to feel more like a suffocating tomb than the place that most of the good moments of his life had happened. Where magic had come to life before his very eyes as he grew.

Where he’d watched one of his professors get eaten alive at the table he’d eaten the majority of his meals.

With an uncontrollable shiver the blond wizard had stepped forward and laid a hand on the front gate. It had popped open immediately, and he’d turned back to Potter. At a complete loss of what to do, feeling awkward and in debt to the man before him. He’d already thanked him, and sincerely at that.

Luckily, Potter had seemed to sense his unrest and nodded. Of course the bastard was completely at ease. “Glad you’re not getting your soul sucked out Malfoy. Try to be less of a slimy git now, yeah?” The grin he had flashed had lightened his words, giving the impression of good natured teasing with just an edge of seriousness. “And thanks for the wand. I haven’t found another that responds as well for me yet. See ya round, mate.”

Draco had managed to nod his head dumbly, still in shock from the day’s events. Potter had disappeared on the spot.

Numb and overwhelmed his feet had moved towards the entrance to the Manor. He’d only made it up a handful of steps before the front doors burst open and he caught sight of a blur of pale blue fabric. His mother’s arms had locked tightly around him. The suddenness alarmed him momentarily, but the comforting scent of narcissus flowers overtook his senses. Before he’d known what was happening he was clutching onto Narcissa’s small frame as relief washed over him.

She was safe. She was safe, and alive. And that was all he’d wanted. More than anything, he hadn’t wanted any harm to come to the only person who’d ever touched his life without genuine love.

Draco’s trial was July 27th, and shortly after arriving home he had realized he was now eighteen. In hindsight he should have figured the day had come and gone in the endless monotony that was Wizarding prison.

When he’d realized what day it had been and what that meant he’d had a fit of near hysterical laughter. He didn’t know why it was so damn hilarious to him, that he’d aged out of his first technical year as an adult while locked away for a choice he’d been forced to make as a child. 

Irritated with the abrupt turn his internal reflection had taken, Draco’s upper lip curled in disgust at his life and himself. He took a good chug from the bottle again. It burned pleasantly down his esophagus, reminding him that everything didn’t always have to be bleak and cold.

Granger’s freckly face popped into his head for some inexplicable reason.

She radiated warmth and fire. The small flare of light that apparently only he’d seen surrounding her still stumped him. Could it be that he’d just never noticed how she quite literally lit up a room before? Was it a burst of sensitivity to auras? The Sight did tend to run in the Black side of his gene pool. Even if so, why only her?

These thoughts haunted him.

Draco didn’t have much else to focus on, these days.

The rain had temporarily resided, though the air was still thick with moisture. It permeated right through him and melded into his internal circumstances. Lighting bolted across the grey sky of his mind as it cracked the surface of his Occlumency ocean. Draco felt the abrupt urge to break something. The disgruntled expression still pinching his features, he took a few more gulps of whisky until there were only a few mouthfuls left. With a wave of his hand, Draco wandlessly created a controlled spark in the bottle as his opposite hand curled around the neck of it. Rearing back, he ignited the spark right as he released the bottle into the air. It arced high above his head before landing on the ground twenty feet away from him and exploding.

It was far enough away that Draco wasn’t in any danger of the shattering glass or licks of flames that burst into life. Even with the wet grass, it left a dark scorched chunk of earth with bits of dirt and greenery in shambles around the hole. It wasn’t the first time he’d released his anger this way over the past few weeks and he doubted it would be the last.

He didn’t feel _much_ better, but he’d take what little bit of satisfaction he could get.

Right as he was about to head back to the kitchen for another bottle to steadily work his way through and drown his sorrows, a loud pop sounded. The face of a horrified House Elf appeared.

“Oh nos! Master Draco, why must you be doing this?” Meeksy cried, her tiny hands slapping her cheeks in disbelief. “If you keeps doing this, the lawn will be being destroyed! When Mistress be seeing this she is going to be having Meeksy’s head! You goes back inside before she notices! Now, now!”

A distressed squeal left the creature as she tugged on her floppy ears and then shooed him quickly with her hands. When he didn’t budge, her fingers curled around his knees and she gave him a shove.

Suppressing a rude chuckle at Meeksy’s fit, Draco allowed himself to be pushed in the direction of the Manor and kept moving when the elf’s hands disappeared. Meeksy trotted over to the scene of the crime, grumbling angrily under her breath.

Draco fully intended to snatch up another bottle of Firewhisky before ambling aimlessly up to his bedroom to sulk a bit more. Oh, and reflect on his atrocious decision making and life choices, can never forget to do that. 

Narcissa Malfoy was a patient, deadly calculating woman. It took quite a lot of gumption to look into the eyes of one of the darkest wizards of all time and tell him a bald-faced lie. Nearly every move the woman made was weighed carefully against other potential courses of action to decide what would be most beneficial to whatever outcome she was striving for. All whilst keeping utter and complete control of herself, outwardly and usually inwardly as well.

That was how Draco knew she was really fed up with his shit. His mother moved quickly and jaggedly towards him through the open doors leading into the kitchen, a scathing look on her delicate features. Draco didn’t flinch, unsure of what was about to happen but also not quite caring as much as he should have; the whisky was thrumming through him pleasantly.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy! You should be ashamed of yourself. Terrorizing the poor elves again! Have you no dignity or class anymore, my dragon? That’s the third time this week alone I’ve heard Meeksy screeching at that horrendous volume about something you’ve done to provoke her!”

“I’m not intentionally provoking her, Mother. I’m just so naturally skilled at pushing all the wrong buttons.” The words were out before he truly thought it through, and Narcissa scowled. Draco, however, didn’t back down. It was the truth. He’d always had a knack for getting under people’s skin, for finding the soft spot and making the blows land harder than anyone else before him. It was practically bred into him.

The M in Malfoy may as well stand for manipulation.

Maniac.

Monster.

Empty fingers twitched, and Draco’s face contorted to a scowl to rival his mother’s as he longed to step around the woman and find another drink.

Narcissa noticed, and crossed her arms indignantly across her chest. “Mind your tone, young man. What’s happened to you? You’ve been doing nothing but lounging around feeling sorry for yourself! Drinking your problems away. You haven’t bothered to find any solutions to these problems, you’re just allowing the waters to get too high and drown you.”

Draco’s gaze snapped sharply to his mother’s. He was using up every ounce of control within himself to not lash out at her for knowing exactly what to say. For knowing him better than anyone- and knowing precisely what was happening inside of him even if he couldn’t explain it fully to her. He simultaneously was relieved she understood and annoyed that she had the gall to bluntly call him out like that.

When he’d first approached her about his internal circumstances sometime in his Third Year, Narcissa had nodded knowingly and assured him that it was fairly common within the Blacks to have somewhat alternative Occlumency techniques. Regulus Black apparently had had a jungle in his mind, wild and lush. Seemingly simple on the surface, but dangerous and underestimated at its core. It was how he’d hidden his change of heart from Voldemort- long enough to steal the Horcrux locket, she assumed.

Once Narcissa realized Draco was stubbornly keeping his mouth drawn in a tight line to avoid speaking, she took another step towards him. Her head hardly reached his collarbone, but blimey would his mother always know how to cow her son at least a little. “Draco, this is your second chance. You have been through so much, and it’s incredible you are here right now. You have an opportunity to create a good future for yourself. Maybe one that isn’t tainted and weighed down by the sins of your father. You’d better get yourself together, before you end up in prison for the rest of your life. Do you understand me?” Feeling yet another wave of shame prickle over his skin, Draco nodded once. His eyes fixed on a blade of grass blowing in the early evening breeze as lightning crackled and reflected across the ocean of his mind. The water whipped up into a frenzy, whirling ominously around and crashing into itself.

Narcissa sighed, taking another few steps forward until she could envelop her only son within her embrace. Her heart ached for him. She couldn’t imagine how lost her little boy must feel. Basically a little babe with no knowledge thrown into this world where he hadn’t the slightest clue how to navigate any of it. No one should have had to endure what her boy had. But here he was, strong, resilient, and good-hearted, whether he realized any of that or not. If only he could find a reason to put his pieces back together, before he ruined the rest of his life even more than it already was.

At first Draco wanted to scoff and shake her off, not liking the feeling of being coddled. But then, that spark of comfort that always resided within him from any kind of reassurance from his mother flared. He was helpless to prevent himself from hugging her back. They stayed that way until Narcissa pulled back to look into the mercurial gaze of her son, one hand patting his cheek lightly. “Let’s get you a wand, Draco. I promise you’ll feel better once you have control of your magic again.”

Draco snorted. “I am perfectly in control of my magic.”

Narcissa actually rolled her eyes a little bit at that. “Of course you are, darling. Now go take a Pepper Up potion and sober up a bit would you? I owled an American wandmaker and he will be by shortly.” Her tone left no room for rebuttals.

Wondering how even as an adult he seemed to be unable to push against his mother when she was being firm, he nodded in grim acceptance and tromped off to his quarters.

* * *

An hour later found the blond wizard sitting, unbearably sober and bored, in a drawing room. Not _the_ drawing room. Draco had destroyed _that_ drawing room in a drunken fit earlier in the week.

It was one of the instances that his mother had been referring to about Meeksy losing her mind at his antics. He’d been brooding in the Library, and begun to wander aimlessly until he’d come upon the door to that room. Normally, he wouldn’t have even looked in its direction but there was a simmering rage under his skin that night. He found himself inside and using a combination of wandless magic and his bare hands to smash and obliterate anything in sight.

The Hogwarts Express would be leaving in just under a fortnight, and Draco was actually grateful Narcissa had the foresight to contact a wandmaker. It hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d just been drowning in himself, ignoring the rest of life and feeling like he had endless time to do so. Once he was at school again, he’d have to be on his best behavior. No doubt it would be challenging, but what choice did he really have? Behave or Azkaban for life.

There was the sound of voices coming closer, and Draco straightened himself from the slouched position he’d been lounging in before his mother saw him.

Narcissa and a tall man appearing to be in his mid forties strolled into the room. He had a very expensive looking black leather briefcase at his side and his sandy hair was pulled into a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck. He wore a simple hunter green jumper with black slacks and loafers.

He didn’t look like any wandmaker Draco had ever seen, but he’d learned not to judge a book by its cover. Draco rose to his feet, his pureblood manners kicking in. He held his hand out automatically, and the man shook it.

“William, this is my son Draco. Draco, this is William Hendrix.” Narcissa motioned politely between the two, before turning and calling to the elves for tea service.

“Pleased to meet you, William Hendrix.” Draco greeted, dropping the mans hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, Draco.” William smiled sincerely before setting his briefcase down on the table next to them. “I hear you need a new wand.”

Draco nodded, reaching up to push the hair that had fallen into his eyes back. “Yes, sir. I go back to finish my final year soon.”

“William, would you like some tea? Please help yourself.” Narcissa offered, gesturing to the tea cart Meeksy brought in. She was ever the graceful hostess, in any situation.

“Maybe in a bit, my dear, but thank you. I’m quite eager to see what wand chooses your son.” William answered, intently focused on the locking mechanism of his briefcase until it swung open.

Steely eyes scanned the surface of it, seeing a few wand boxes piled neatly on top of each other. Unlike Ollivander’s, where all the boxes and even the store had a dull, dark, but mysterious feel to it. Hendrix’s wands were in brightly colored cases. Vivacious, rich tones that seemed to have some sort of color coded organization to them. William grabbed the box closest to him, it’s hue a rich, rusty orange, and held it out to the young man before him with a motion to open it.

Trepidation flooded the pit of Draco’s stomach and he couldn’t comprehend why. It was just a wand. His hawthorn wand has chosen him within the first ten tries. How different could this possibly be?

Extremely, as it turned out.

A half an hour later, the nerves in Draco’s belly had tightened into knots. The climate in his mind was chilly and tense, sheets of hail swirling rebelliously through the air and slamming the waters surface.

What was wrong with him? Why wasn’t anything working?

He must’ve tried near forty wands at this point. Some had just done nothing, others had shattered nearby lamps and trinkets. One had even exploded Meeksy’s tea cart and the poor thing had burst into tears before Apparating away with the mess.

It just wasn’t her day.

It apparently wasn’t Draco’s, either. He’d tried wand types he’d never even heard of. Types of wood he was unfamiliar with, a few different cores that weren’t common in any wand shop he’d ever heard of. Which was mostly Ollivanders and Gregorovitch’s. Wandmaking and wandlore weren’t subjects Draco had ever looked into extensively.

None of them responded well. William didn’t seem discouraged, but even Narcissa was starting to look a little concerned. The American man flashed an encouraging grin Draco’s way- before handing him another box, this one a vibrant gold.

“This one is beech wood, ten inches with a Zouwu tail feather. Slightly springy. I was lucky enough to cross paths with a Scamander a decade or so ago, and he provided me with a few precious feathers. They make very unique cores,” William enthusiastically informed them. Draco glanced up at his face, noting the near child like glee there. The man obviously had a passion for this. His knowledge was superb, and it was refreshing to have alternative options from all he’d known before.

Turning over a new leaf and all.

Draco pulled out the box from the casing, picking up the wand and giving it a wave. It sparked weakly at the tip. Draco felt a lurch of excitement, but it was quashed when the sparks died out pathetically.

With a sigh, Draco replaced the wand and tossed it a little rougher than he meant to on the table with all the other discards. His fingers twitched a bit and he resisted the urge to run them agitatedly through his hair. He’d lost that battle a few times, and his mother had thrown him a scornful look at each occurrence. How many more options could there even be? What was he going to do if nothing worked?

Magic was all Draco had ever known.

Was it rejecting him? That couldn’t be possible. Could it?

The blond wizard( _was he still a wizard if he never had a wand again?)_ felt shaken but William still didn’t seem fazed. The wandmaker was looking pensively into his briefcase and strumming his fingertips on his chin. After a few moments that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, his features brightened. He reached his arm elbow deep into the briefcase.

It must have an Undetectable Extension Charm on it. Draco wondered if those were legal in America or if William just made his own rules.

After a moment, the man exclaimed joyously and tugged a deep charcoal box out of the briefcase. Draco hadn’t tried any wand out of a box that color yet.

A brilliant smile ran near ear to ear on William’s face as he waved the box at Draco. With another weary sigh, he reached out and grasped it.

“What is this one?” Draco inquired, gingerly tugging the outer case off and opening it.

Every hair on his body stood up the second his fingers touched the base of the inky handle. He jolted in surprise, nearly dropping the thing. He glanced up at William, who had a knowing look on his kind features.

“Give it a wave.”

Draco swallowed thickly, the air dense and charged around him as he curled the wand into his hand. His Occlumency ocean was utterly still for the first time in his recent memory, the clouds racing in the sky from the force of the wind but the environment mellow other than that.

This was it. This wand would choose him, he could feel it. Could feel how _right_ this wood felt in his hand. How his magic sang and bounced around, thrilled to have a companion.

At his touch the wand pulsed in contentment, the sensation washing over him and soothing all of the anxiety he’d had. It was incredible. Like the feeling when you’ve been out in the cold for too long, and you’ve come inside to warm up and your skin starts to thaw. A ghost of the painful pinpricks from before slowly fading but also soothing, like a balm to his soul.

With a wave, a burst of midnight supreme rose petals shot out of the tip of the wand. Draco felt simultaneously high from the happiness coursing through him, and so relieved if he were a different person he could cry.

Narcissa let out a very uncharacteristically girlish squeal, clapping her hands lightly. William’s smile somehow broadened even more and he eagerly filled them in. His eyes sparkled with delight as he all but clapped his hands together along with the witch.

“That is eight and a half inches of willow wood. Pliant, adaptable and thirsty for new magical routes. Not overly common in any area on Earth in wandmaking. Wands that are this short are quite rare. They tend to end up in the hands of witches or wizards who do not fully accept who they are and mostly hide their truest self from anyone else. Those who own an abnormally short wand may come to assume characteristics they had previously considered flaws over time, and the wand’s power will grow in that instance.”

“It is said that willow wood has healing power, and any owner of such a wand has an often misplaced insecurity that they try to keep hidden away. Willow wands always seek an owner with potential to do wondrous things for the world. Once, when I was studying under the great Ollivander, he shared that it had always been a common phrase in his family that “he who has the furthest to travel will go fastest with willow.” I only have three of this core. I’ve never found anyone these wands desired. I didn’t think to have you give one of these a try at first, but as soon as I thought it I knew it would be the perfect match.” William crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the table next to them.

Stunned didn’t begin to describe how Draco felt from those words. He didn’t feel anywhere near capable of unpacking all of the meaning and significance of what they could mean. He looked back down at the wand, studying it’s features.

It was thin and knobbly in two spots , with a small curve from the base to the middle and accented by an almost sharp bend in the opposite direction towards the tip. It appeared fragile. As if it would be easy to break but upon his curious tweak to test it, it held father firm. A dark brown shade so ashy it was near grey, with a handle of an even deeper, more obsidian color.

“And the core?” Draco questioned, his gaze still sliding over the wand affectionately. It didn’t matter what it was. It was his, and it more than accepted him. It was ecstatic to have him. He could just feel it.

He felt whole; he hadn’t even been aware that he was empty.

William’s smile turned a bit teasing, and he straightened himself to bring Draco’s attention to him. “The core is Thestral Wingspine.”

Draco felt the comforting chill dance across the surface of his skin again, and rather than being shocked or repulsed as some would be at being chosen by such a macabre entity, he felt honored. Kindred. As if this wand understood him, every broken piece.

“Thestral?” Narcissa gasped. Her alarm wasn’t completely unfounded. The only wand known to have any part of a Thestral was the Elder Wand, which legend served had a Thestral tail hair as a core. Any other wand attempted to have been made with that material never amounted to anything and was largely unstable, but Draco’s knowledge on that was minimal.

Besides, what would a silly imaginary wand from a childhood story have to do with real life?

William nodded patiently, still holding Draco’s stare to portray the depth of this explanation. “The wandmakers had so much demand over the past few years that they had to start branching out with the cores, even before your unfortunate war. But there has been a surge of business since the end of that as well. Thestral Wingspine as a wand core is new and of my own design. More reliable and less unstable than the tail hair, the Wingspine is uncommon to master and coax into being a magical core. It is suited to someone who great tragedy has befallen. Despite the hardship, the horse drags on steadfastly to his destiny, paving the way and guiding others on theirs, even if those others can’t see how with their own eyes. After all, Thestrals aren’t all they appear to be, are they?”

Now what in the bloody hell did that mean? Great tragedy? Destiny? Guiding others? Not all they appear to be? Thestrals didn’t appear to most people at all.

As if any of those things could be used in reference to Draco Malfoy. Great tragedy maybe. His whole existence seemed to be one awful decision, horrific incident, or cruel joke after another.

Besides, he’d done some horrid things. This sounded like a wand that belonged in a hero like Potter’s hand. Someone with a destiny, who was meant to help others and make a difference.

Not a coward who slithered around inebriated in the shadows.

Even with those pessimistic thoughts floating around his head, the man’s words stuck. A small voice inside Draco couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he could one day accomplish something that mattered. Something beyond the awful things that tainted his past.

The Vanishing Cabinet mattered- in the worst way. But apparently, so had his reluctance to identify Potter in the hands of his lunatic aunt. Could there really be more in store for him? Did he dare to hope for such a future?

William appeared very amused by Draco’s puzzlement, and laughed heartily before, with a wave of his wand, all of the discarded trial wands boxed themselves and stacked neatly inside the maw of his briefcase. “You’ll understand one day, my boy. Everything always happens as it is meant to.”

Sure, that wasn’t cryptic or anything.

The gleeful wandmaker did clap his hands now. “Now that that’s taken care of- Narcissa, about that tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely mildly plagiarized the wandlore info about short wands and willow wood William speaks of from a Hogwarts Library virtual book on wands from Pottermore. I was researching information in HP wandlore to decide what to make Draco’s wand, and it was just easier to slightly reword the information found because trying to totally reword it and present it just didn’t have the right feel to it. BUT DISCLAIMER JUST IN CASE. The only thing I came up with was the Thestral Wingspine and everything else was just info gathered and put to use!
> 
> What did you think? Any favorite parts or lines? Next chapter should be up within the week :) Thanks for reading!


	3. Ready To Smile, And Love Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione reflects on her life since the Final Battle and has a reassuring conversation with her best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested listening/chapter inspiration is Fully Alive by Flyleaf. As usual I recommend listening to it first to get a feel for the mood of the chapter. Spotify playlist link in the first chapter :)
> 
> Beta love to Misdemeanor1331! This would be an awful mess without her!

Hermione Granger was a simple woman.

Or at least, a relatively simple to please woman.

A nice cuppa. A good book full of any kind of knowledge that she could soak into her brain, like a sponge with infinite capacity. A furry, taciturn ginger beast who adored her but hated most others.

A thoughtful word or gesture. It was the little things that really counted. When it came down to it, actions absolutely spoke louder than words. Hermione was a little hard pressed to admit that there were things out there more powerful than words, but there it was.

And if it was a situation she couldn’t content herself in, she removed herself to the best of her ability. She wouldn’t stand for the mistreatment of anyone or anything at this point of her life.

That was how she found herself curled up on a blanket on a windy but clear night near the end of August, on the roof over Ginny’s room at the Burrow. There was a steaming mug of orange tea under a stasis charm by her hip, and an open book on Muggle medicine resting against her ribs. Her amber eyes flittered aimlessly across the constellations. She’d been trying to read up and learn more about certain medical diseases and treatments before she went back to Hogwarts, but didn’t currently have the concentration she needed to focus on learning.

Hermione had been hiding on the roof for over two hours, since well before the sun went down. It was an unusually cool summer night, and she wanted some peace and quiet. Which was extremely difficult to come by on any average day at the Burrow, but was proving to be even more challenging this day.

Because today, Hermione had broken up with Ron.

She felt awful about it, honestly.

But these days, Hermione didn’t have space inside of herself to waste on things that exhausted every last straw of her patience or made her feel like she was supposed to be living her life to please anyone else.

Two weeks after the Final Battle, Hermione still hadn’t recovered from some aches and pains as quickly as she should have. She hurt all over, and every day had only seemed to get worse. More exhaustion, difficulty breathing at times, and extra bruises. She’d gone to St. Mungo’s, talked to Slughorn for pain potions and done her own research on what could be wrong when she had the energy to do so.

It hadn’t occurred to her that it could be a non magical affliction until Harry had suggested it. Hermione could have smacked herself. Within the the week, she’d gone to a Muggle doctor, not extremely worried and hoping to get some answers. Ron had come with her, and they’d run some tests. Her life had changed forever in the span of the time it took the cooly empathetic elderly woman to speak five words.

_“Miss Granger, you have leukemia.”_

_Hermione’s heart plummeted straight into her stomach. Ron’s hand tightened around hers in alarm, surely at the look on her face, but he didn’t understand what that meant._

_Hermione did._

_After a few moments to gather herself, she swallowed heavily before steeling her nerves and glancing back to the woman. “How…” She’d been about to ask how she should proceed. Her words choked off, and her Gryffindor bravery cracked like a dam as her emotions welled up and spilled over despite her attempt to keep a grip on them. She’d begun sobbing uncontrollably, allowing Ron to pull her into his side as he stared at the doctor in bewilderment._

_The doctor had patiently explained to the redhead what leukemia was, all the while Hermione continued to break down. The sorrow that sunk into her bone deep was almost instantaneous, and she felt leaden with the weight of what this meant hanging on her shoulders. Ron’s arm wrapped tighter around her waist as the doctor’s words continued, eventually squeezing her to the point of discomfort. But she couldn’t stop her hysterics long enough to tell him so._

_The brunette felt disconnected from herself. She was physically aware of the sensation of Ron’s clutching her to him. She was mentally trying to slap sense into herself. This wasn’t like her. She didn’t fall apart in a moment like this. She’d helped win a war, damnit! She was better than this._

_But still, the tears fell._

_Her heart wept too._

The memory still made her feel uneasy and sad, but it felt light years away even though it had only been a few months. She’d accepted her fate. What could she do but live her life to the fullest while she was still lively enough to do so? Her health would eventually deteriorate, but until then she was determined to do all that she could. She’d begun treatments. Her skin no longer had a dull pallor to it but was once again the tanned, olive tone she’d always been. It still bruised easier than before, but that was to be expected.

Hermione’s emotions were extremely unpredictable in the beginning, but as they days passed she’d quickly grown into a bittersweet acceptance. She’d even started a bucket list of things she wanted to do and accomplish while there was still time. She was set to go back to Hogwarts in a few days, neither of her boys joining her.

Of course, she hadn’t originally expected them to. Both had shoe-ins with the Auror department, and that had been a dream of both of theirs for some time. Or rather, it was a dream of Harry’s. Ron was still going to take the opportunity presented to him.

They’d both offered to decline and return to school with her when she’d been diagnosed, but she’d refused. She didn’t want the rest of their lives to be negatively impacted, and knew they would’ve spent the year moaning and groaning about how they’d saved the world so they shouldn’t have to write forty inches on Potions ingredients.

Besides, now she was free to really focus on anything she pleased. She could dive into any study that struck her fancy- and have endless time to do so because she wouldn’t be keeping those lovable idiots afloat.

The time with them would have been nice, absolutely.

It was just that Ron had gotten too much for her. She loved him, truly she did. They had been through so much together; all of them had. And she would always care deeply and genuinely for Ron. But she had come to realize that she didn’t love him the way one was supposed to love a significant other. It would only hurt him in the end to believe she did.

Only the Weasleys, Harry, and her doctor knew about her diagnosis, and she intended to keep it that way. She couldn’t fathom handling Ron’s emotions and reactions while balancing her own turmoil and trying to find the bright side where she could.

She’d been staying with the Weasleys all summer. It had been incredibly painful for Hermione to consider returning to her parents abandoned house. Alone. To continue to be alone, except for Crookshanks. Harry had asked her to stay at Grimmauld with him, but he spent most of his time at the Burrow anyway.The hustle and bustle of the Burrow was more preferable: it kept her from getting lost in herself and besides, Molly and Arthur had insisted.

Arthur, especially, had been very firm, not even entertaining the possibility of Hermione staying anywhere but with them. Over the past weeks, he’d been extra fatherly to her. Molly was amazing, too, of course, but Arthur had gone above and beyond. She suspected it was because she was sick and didn’t have her own parents to rely on to help her through. And, ever since the loss of Fred, he’d been seeking to fill a hole within himself. He had become very protective of Hermione since he’d been informed of her condition.

They’d both assured her that she remained welcome and they understood completely the previous night when she’d given them a heads up of her intention to break things off romantically with Ron. They hadn’t even allowed her to defend her reasons, just kindly told her to do what she needed to do.

It was impossible for Hermione to stand another moment with the pressure Ron unknowingly put on her. They’d always riled each other up in the worst ways at the most inopportune times. Ron Weasley was a man with an undoubtedly lovely and loyal heart, but a stubborn mouth and often abrasive and inconsiderate personality. Sometimes it was too much, and especially now Hermione just couldn’t. She had limited time left, and she didn’t want to break his heart by wasting away in front of him.

All summer, he’d been as supportive as he could but was unable to control his feelings from overwhelming her. He’d lash out when she didn’t know how to handle it, and apologize later. She knew he didn’t mean to make her feel that way, but it was what it was. The guilt she constantly felt over how he was handling it was never ending and he’d lose it in one way or another so often that she thought it was better this way. Especially since he and Harry weren’t coming back to Hogwarts. When Hermione insisted the boys not return with her and follow their dreams, Ron had tried begging her to not return and stay home with him, being as they “only had so much time left together.” That was one of the last straws.

Hermione intended to enjoy every last moment that she could this year, without the pressure of keeping someone else’s grief from being triggered. He had an uncanny ability to simultaneously be understanding of her predicament and somehow still make everything about himself. It was just how he was.

She would see them when they could visit her on weekends, when Ron was ready. After today’s events, he’d announced that he was going to stay at Grimmauld Place with Harry until she left for school. Hermione offered to stay with Harry instead, but in a rare selfless moment Ron had refused. He’d told her that he’d rather her stay in the supportive environment because she needed it more.

Harry would still come in the meantime. Plus, Arthur was going to be the new Muggle Studies professor. He and McGonagall had decided to make it mandatory that every student take the subject this year in light of recent events. Hermione had suggested bringing a theatre extracurricular this year for those who wanted to participate. She’d thoroughly enjoyed helping him lesson plan and set everything up in preparation. Ginny would be returning, as well.

Lost in her thoughts, Hermione didn’t hear the sound of approaching footsteps until there was a body laying down carefully beside her. She started, sitting up and knocking her book to the roof. She pressed her hand to her heart in alarm as she met the emerald depths of her best friend’s eyes.

“Sorry, Hermione. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Harry smirked a bit in amusement, stealing a sip of her tea before bringing his arms up to cross behind his head like a pillow. Hermione released a breath with a smile, and cuddled in next to the raven haired man, resting her head on his shoulder as they stared up at the sky. “Just checking on you. I figured you were having a hard time.”

Hermione shifted a little, letting the weight of her head rest more on Harry. “I am. But I’ll be alright. It’s him I’m worried about.”

“Who, Ron? Pfft. He has the emotional range of a teaspoon, remember? He’ll bounce back.” That got a chortle from the bushy haired witch. They laughed together, and Hermione was struck by how amazing it was that they were here. They’d done all they had, made it through everything. Battered and beaten down, but still alive. Trying to make a better future, for everyone. It would never cease to astound her.

“He’ll understand why, one day.” Harry reassured. “You did the right thing. Even if it’s hard, no one faults you for that. I don’t think he even does, he just doesn’t know how to be around you right now.”

With a nod, Hermione sighed and focused back on the sky.

“So what were you looking at up there?”

“You took how many years of Astronomy, you should know!” At Harry’s careless shrug that playfully jostled her head, Hermione laughed softly and lifted the arm that wasn’t comfortably tucked between them to point. “Well, do you see that? That’s Ursa Major. It’s visible all over—“

“Year round, I remember that at least.”

“Yes! I’m glad some things decided to stick around in that maze of yours in between visions of red hair and Wonky Freigns,” Hermione teased.

“It’s a Wronski Feint,” Harry’s chuckle filled the open air around them. It made something inside of Hermione glow. She felt very lucky to have such a wonderful friend.

She’d expected Harry to tell her to take it easy on Ron and stick it out, but he, as usual, was full of surprises. He explained in very simple terms that under no circumstances did she have to do a damn thing she didn’t want to do ever again, as far as he was concerned. And then proceeded to give her a gangly armed bear hug, telling her he would always be there for her, would take care of Ron, and make sure he moved forward with as few bumps as possible. Hermione’s heart had felt fit to burst, tears stinging her eyes at how thoughtful this man was and how grateful she was to know him.

No one had ever or would ever stand beside her as proud and unwavering, as Harry did.

Hermione was sad that her own life was going to inevitably be cut short. But Merlin, was she over the moon that Harry would go on to live a long life full of the love and peace he deserved. 

She could die happy knowing that.

“What else?” Harry asked, gesturing to the seemingly endless night.

Hermione searched around for a moment, her brow furrowing in concentration until she spotted another cluster of stars.

“Well the Ursa Minor is right near it, there. But let’s see…Hmm…There! That one’s Draco.” She informed Harry matter-of-factly as she gestured to the dragon constellation.

She blinked, taken off guard when an unintentional flash of mercurial orbs overtook her thoughts. For the first time, they hadn’t been filled with something scathing or negative, but with disbelief and a little bit of awe.

Weird.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t thought about Malfoy. Seeing the once pristine boy with his nose in the air and a permanent sneer locked onto his features filthy and chained had been surreal. It was such a contrast to any memory she recalled of him. Even in his darker days, like the awful night of their capture and holding at Malfoy Manor or the final battle, Malfoy had been wearing expensive fabrics that just screamed luxury. They may have been worse for wear, but the boy was almost always impeccably tailored. In court, his hair had been long and dirty, almost as dirty as his pale skin. That kind of sight wasn’t one so easily forgotten, not to Hermione.

The way he’d just stared at her when she’d come in, confused as to why she was there no doubt. Witnessing something other than burning disdain or poorly masked horror on his face had put the nail in the coffin of weird. It was hard not to think about, amongst the many other things that went bump in Hermione’s ever-racing thoughts in the moments before she succumbed to sleep at night.

They’d agreed to testify together. Harry had approached her alone, stating vehemently that he wouldn’t just stand by and let Narcissa go to jail after how she’d lied for him, and that he intended to testify on Draco’s behalf as well. He’d had a defensive expression set, as if expecting to have to stand up to her. Hermione had just nodded, and said she agreed with his decision and she wanted to help. He’d raised a thick black brow in surprise, but smiled in relief. They hadn’t brought it up once it had been done.

Of course, now Harry just had to stir the pot. Hermione would bet ten Galleons that he’d been lying in wait for an opportunity to talk about it. It was that good old Marauder mischievousness built into his blood.

Harry bounced his shoulder up and down in jest. “Draaaco, huh? Don’t let Ron hear you say that.”

The curly haired witch could not roll her eyes hard enough. “Oh, don’t even Harry! You wanted to testify for him, it was your idea!”

That laugh resounded once more. “That is true, but I’m not the one who showed up dressed like I was going to lunch with the Queen. And you had a treatment that day, you were willingly late to it. You’re never late.”

Another eye roll, and Hermione swore she could see the inside of her sockets as she grumbled, “It was just a Muggle suit, and I was making a point.”

“You wore heels, Hermione.”

Hermione scowled, scoffing and sitting up a bit to whack him one. “You git! It’s just Malfoy, half mad and grimy! Why would I care what I looked like?”

He just grinned, that heartwarming shit-eating grin and looked totally unrepentant. “I don’t know, ‘Mione. But if you did, that would be okay. All I’m saying. If you want to swim naked in the Black Lake, or nearly feed another horrid teacher to the centaurs. Hell, if you have mind to shag Filch this year, then that’s your decision, and I have your back. Forever. Until your last day, I will always be in your corner.”

Her shudder —because Filch, seriously Harry?— was followed by a watery smile and Hermione was filled to the brim with love for her best friend all over again. “Thanks, Harry. Me too. Until the end.”

Harry’s face fell a bit, and sadness crept into his features as he grasped her hand and squeezed.

She knew what those words meant to him. She knew what he would say back before the first syllable left his mouth.

“Until the very end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know! The original draft was the previous chapter, this one and the next one all combined but my beta recommenced splitting it up and I agreed. Reviews, feedback and kudos appreciated =]


	4. You Won't Find The Rest Of Me Hiding Underneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco returns to Hogwarts, and faces all that awaits for him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested listening for the chapter is Living Apology by Movements. Playlist link in first chapter! If you don't want to listen, I as usual recommend looking up the lyrics!
> 
> Beta love to Misdemeanor1331! You're the best <3

September first came in the blink of an eye. 

Kings Cross Station was bustling once again. 

Last year, the air had been somber and resigned. Everything was different, and everyone knew it. Draco hadn’t wanted to come back, hadn’t wanted to leave his mother. But he hadn’t a choice.

This year, there was so much life to behold all around him that it almost hurt his head. The sun was even shining merrily down, the beams reflecting off the metal of the Hogwarts Express.

Draco had insisted that Narcissa not accompany him to the station. He was not only an adult, but also now a social pariah and he didn’t want to draw any more unnecessary attention to himself. He’d walked through the wall and immediately boarded the train, taking a car fairly far back. He had arrived as early as possible to avoid being stuck as the spectacle of a large crowd. 

The blond hadn’t stepped foot outside the Manor since his release from prison. He wouldn’t have stepped foot on this train if it wasn’t a requirement of his probation. 

Alas, here he was. His forehead leaned against the cool glass of the window he’d charmed so no one could see him through it. He was still people watching, but had no desire to be gawked at or thrown looks of disgust. The anxious ball of energy in his belly was a throbbing entity, although he was stifling it as much as possible. 

A calm flurry of powdery snow was billowing around the vast sky in his mind. The water’s surface was rippling in little circles in response to the flakes. The sun was hidden behind the clouds, as usual. It was all Draco could do, to tap into that good old self preservation and keep himself collected. 

Hopefully Theo would find him soon. As long as Theo didn’t cast him out, Draco thought he’d be okay. It would be preferable if Blaise and the others didn’t either, but Theo was the only one whose loss he’d truly feel. 

The Thestral Wingspine wand pulsated from the breast pocket of his pitch black robes. As if it could sense his distress, and wished to reassure him. His magic had been a steady hum of pleasantness since the moment he’d held that wand in his hand. He tapped his fingers on it, before dropping his hand to his thigh and staring back out the window.

The compartment door opened, and Draco’s vision snapped to the person entering the car. He resisted the urge to sigh when he noticed sleek black hair, as perfectly coifed as the woman it was attached to. 

“Draco! There you are!” Pansy gushed, prancing forward and folding herself gracefully into the seat next to him. 

Draco was glad that at least one person definitely wasn’t going to shun him, but he was not about to let Pansy get any ideas either. Right around the time he’d taken the Mark, he’d started to pull back from her. She’d been a distraction and a liability at the time. She’d been devastated, especially when he’d been unable to give her a satisfactory reason why. A part of him would always have a soft spot for the sly, sassy girl. 

But he wasn’t in love with her anymore. He wasn’t sure he ever had been, fully. As much as a fifteen year old boy could love a girl who fancied him and fooled around with him on a regular basis, sure. Nothing that was worth the trouble with everything else he had on his plate right then or right now. 

Pansy Parkinson could be very pushy and aggressive when she wanted something and she’d always wanted Draco. 

The witch had written him a few times when he was in his cell. He hadn’t been able to answer and probably wouldn’t have even if he could have. It was better not to give her any false hope.

That didn’t mean that Pansy wouldn’t still try her luck. He’d been expecting it. He was already so on edge he didn’t want to deal with it. 

Pansy crossed her legs daintily, leaning right into his personal space. He could smell the sweet, floral scent that used to drive Draco crazy with teenage lust. Now, it made his nose twitch. “I’m so glad you’re back, Draco. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d been gone most of the year again.” Her voice was syrupy, not laid on too thick but present. 

Draco shrugged, looking out the window. He hated to be rude - not completely, however he did feel a _little_ bad about it- but he didn’t want to get even more wound up and agitated before the influx of the rest of the students. “Not now, Pans. I’m glad to see you too but I am not in the mood to fend you off.” 

Pansy laughed and reached out a finger to trace the shell of his ear. Her mouth was poised to say something, but Draco cut her off by jerking back and knocking her hand away with his own.

“I’m really not in the mood nor the place to deal with this shite right now.” With another longsuffering sigh, the wizard rose to his feet and snatched his rapidly shrunken-to-book-size trunk up to find another car. Or find Theo. Whichever came first.

His Occlumency ocean was raging, thrashing about with the extent of his stupid angst. The air was damper than it had been before, turning the flaky snow into harsh freezing rain. 

He couldn’t shake it. He knew Pansy was only trying to help, but he couldn’t help but resent her a little for being so pushy. It came from a place of genuine affection, but it was one-sided, and he couldn’t indulge her. If he gave her an inch she’d take a mile. Before he knew it she’d be bullying her way into his dorm, attaching to his side every moment she could. He just did not have the desire to deal with any of it.

Draco strode past a few students on his way through the compartments, staying out of everyone’s way much as he could while still watching where he was going and stewing in his racing thoughts. Not meeting anyone’s eyes. Trying not to attract ire or confrontation. It would happen eventually. Probably many times. If he could just make it through this train ride and the Sorting Ceremony with no issues, it would make a solid beginning to a year of unquestionable hell. 

He kept walking through the sea of uniforms, trying to find a compartment with his friends in it. Or at least what he hoped were still his friends. He was torn between lashing out somehow and trying to gain control over the sparked irritation, or tucking his tail between his legs and hiding. A coward too afraid to face the consequences and inevitable social exile for his actions. 

Worry over if his other friends would treat him any differently wouldn’t stop plaguing him. He’d been so unsure for weeks how everyone, not just the Slytherins were going to react to his return. To him not serving the rest of his life in Azkaban for all he’d done. The odd feeling of vulnerability in a place he used to feel nothing but ease was off-putting and made him want to squirm. He didn’t, of course. Just remained broody and pitiful, what else was new. 

Maybe if he hadn’t been focused on keeping his emotional leash reigned in so tightly, he might have been prepared for the force that came crashing into him.

A body collided with his chest, slamming his back into the wall of the empty compartment he had been passing through. Draco’s hands rose, his Seeker training kicking in to latch onto and steady the arms of the person who had so rudely knocked into him.

The scent of tangerines and honey wafted into his senses briefly. Looking up, he noticed wild chestnut hair and felt the sharp jut of a book corner in his chest.

Of course.

The Gods were cruel.

The wind that tore through the fog in his mind picked up, strong enough that he could almost hear it whistling. A soft, nearly undetectable rumble of thunder sounded. The waters swept, up and back down in powerful waves as the tides grew- somehow reaching towards a shore he’d never been able to envision no matter how many time he’d tried.

When Draco realized his hands were still on the girls cardigan covered elbows, he quickly released them. The blond turned sideways from the wall so that he was able to take a step back from her. 

Granger.

He hadn’t the stones to mouth off at first sight like he’d have done in the past. Hadn’t the stones, or the desire. It was strange, to be in this alternate world where he wasn’t expected to tear her down on sight. 

Where he in fact felt indebted to her. 

Where everything was different, and venom didn’t rise on his tongue straight away.

Had he ever touched her before? Had he ever been close enough to catch the scent of her unruly mane?

Shaking that odd current of thought off -seriously, what was happening with his mind anymore?- Draco took another step back. Their eyes met. Orbs the color of the richest Firewhiskey peered curiously up at him.

A nervous swoop clenched his abdominals. He lifted his chin instinctively to meet her gaze head on. 

It was almost engrained in him, to dig his feet in and hold his ground against the challenge that was Hermione Granger. He didn’t know what to do. This was definitely not keeping his head down. He couldn’t seem to be able to convince his mouth to form words. It was almost as if someone had cast a Petrificus Totalis on him, but he knew it was all just his insipid disability to do anything but stand there frozen yet again.

Granger stared at him for a moment, already in her school uniform with her robe slung over her shoulder. A thick text with white pages and a hard, shiny cover like he’d never seen before was tucked under her arm. 

Then her face melted. She gave him a friendly smile and a nod, before heading out the compartment the way he’d come in.

Draco took a moment to gain control of himself, staring after her in astonishment. His left hand absently rubbed the spot where her sharp book edge had dug into his sternum. 

How was it so easy for her to just prance around and smile at everyone? 

At him?

After everything he’d done, not just to her but to essentially the world. 

It didn’t make any sense. Nothing she’d done recently had. His brain hurt a bit from rapidly firing from one thought current to another. Draco pulled the tides in, shook his head in a failing attempt to clear it a bit and opened the compartment door.

He still had to find Theo.

* * *

The next morning found a very sleepy group of Slytherin and Gryffindor 7th and 8th years gathered in pairs at Potion’s table. Being down in the dungeons with zero sunlight filtering in felt disorienting at such an hour. 

Draco propped his chin in his hand, blinking wearily towards the front of the room. Theo was seated next to him, scribbling away on a spare piece of parchment. For as long as they’d known each other Theo liked to create things. Lots of things, any things. He’d try any form of art once. His newest technique seemed to be trying to draw things using a various assortment of dot sizes to shade and create a larger image. It was amusing to watch, but Draco had no idea how the brunette was able to focus on such small details so early.

The anxiety Draco had felt on the train and through the Sorting Ceremony proved both slightly unfounded and justified, and he’d had a hard time shaking it to get much rest. Some people seemed to respect him still. Others were indifferent to his presence, while some threw him looks of loathing. A few with fear. 

It had been impossible to ignore once everyone had been corralled together off the train. Draco had felt slightly better by that time, having located Theo and the rest of his old group of friends. No one had acted any differently. In fact, Theo had immediately sprung up, gave him a firm one-armed hug, and stayed close to him the rest of the ride. The reassurance made Draco more relieved than he’d believed possible. Blaise, Daphne, and Astoria all greeted him, and then continued their conversation about their summer travels. A sheepish but annoyed Pansy had snuck in at some point, and Draco nodded her way but refused to make eye contact with her. 

It was sort of nice, to be surrounded by the mindless chatter of his friends again. He’d isolated himself for months and it was nice to have some white noise and normalcy. He was grateful no one asked about his stint in Azkaban.

Upon arriving at the castle, they’d all exited together. As they’d approached the carriages that would take them to the entrance Draco was struck, not for the first time, at how ethereal the Thestrals were. All inky skin stretched over sharp bones, with illuminated eyes that, the year before, he’d been terrified to see but now found beautifully sad. His silver gaze traced the outline of a spine line in one of their wings. His fingers had gripped his wand handle tighter, feeling the comfort of the smooth, curved wood. 

The rest of the night had gone without much incident. The Sorting Ceremony was lively, filled with chatter and laughter, accompanied by delicious smells. Draco was unable to tune into the whole thing, getting lost in his mind and had only been able to pick at a dinner roll. He’d managed to swallow a few bites of mashed potatoes and drink some pumpkin juice. Chewing felt impossible with how tight his jaw had been clenched, anticipating the first of much venom he knew would be thrown his way.

Other than quite a few glares and whispers, nothing had happened. 

It was almost worse this way. Who knew when the other shoe would drop? 

The 8th years were all sharing a dorm this year, including a common room. Only about thirty of them had come back, so they all had their own rooms unless they opted to share with someone out of preference. Most hadn’t, but a few like the Patil twins had. The 8th years also had their own table at the Great Hall. McGonagall had announced that she wasn’t going to enforce restrictions on where anyone could sit this year to enforce house unity, but to accommodate the extra students they’d added a table. 

The Golden Trio was noticeably missing, except for Granger. It had been surprising to say the least when the Headmistress had announced the Heads of the year, and he’d noticed Granger was not Head Girl. Thinking back to their run in on the train he hadn’t noticed a Prefect’s badge on her either. Draco also observed that neither Potter nor Weaselby were present. He was surprised he felt a pang of disappointment when he’d noticed the lack of messy raven hair. He’d subconsciously figured that maybe Potter would have been pleasant to have in the castle this year. That thought felt absurd, but the man had been nothing but compassionate and kind to him since the battle. Maybe he’d have been at the very least one person Draco didn’t have to worry about hating his guts this year.

Loud laughter shook Draco out of his reverie, and his gaze snapped to the table in front of him. Daphne and Pansy were seated there, with Blaise at the table in front of theirs. He was sitting backwards in his chair, leaning forward and obviously flirting with Daphne. The girl was giggling, twirling a blonde lock around her forefinger and gravitating towards the ebony skinned man. Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. Those two were on again off again endlessly, it seemed. 

Next to Blaise was a gangly, murky brown-haired 7th year Draco recalled as Callum Edevayne. He was a meek, quiet boy who’d blended into the background of the Slytherins for as long as he’d remembered. Callum was paging through their Potions, flicking his gaze to the wizard to his left periodically. 

No doubt Blaise had sat next to him strictly to chat up Daphne. The kid wasn’t bad, he was just kind of bland and boring. 

“We’re all gonna go to the Lake Friday night and have a welcome back party with just the snakes.” Blaise flashed a pearly white smile that just oozed charm and Draco watched Daphne shift in her seat a little bit and blush prettily. “You’ll be there, right love?”

Daphne nodded, turning to Pansy and raising a questioning eyebrow to which Pansy replied with an eye roll ad a nod. Pansy notoriously hated when those two hooked up, because it almost always ended in disaster and the rest of them having to pick up the pieces. 

Blaise looked past the girls to his male friends behind them. “You guys in? I have loads of Firewhisky.” 

At that, Draco perked up a bit. He’d brought some himself, but why waste his own when Blaise was offering? He was due to let loose a bit, anyway. Hopefully Pansy wouldn’t try to pull anything, and he could just enjoy a night with his mates like he used to. 

“Mmhmm.” Theo answered, not bothering to look up from his sketching. 

“Yeah, I’m in.” Draco said, causing Blaise to smirk triumphantly and smack his palms together. 

“Wicked. What better way to start off the new year!” Blaise exclaimed in excitement, rocking on his chair a little but never wobbling. 

“Do you think I could come too?” came a soft, timid voice to Blaise’s right. All of the 8th year Slytherins in the area turned to stare at Callum. 

Blinking, Blaise turned to face him. “You think you’ve got what it takes to hang with us, kid?” His voice wasn’t cruel, although it did have a slight mocking tone. 

Determination flitted across the boys face. Callum straightened his posture and faced Blaise straight on. “I believe I do, yes.”

Draco felt a little sorry for him. He obviously just wanted to feel included, and being so soft spoken and docile for years hadn’t done him many favors. He couldn’t recall ever seeing Callum at any of the ‘cool’ parties or gatherings the Slytherins had had over the years. It could have been by choice, but his words made Draco think maybe he’d just never been invited. The blond wizard had no idea when he’d started to even consider other people's problems let alone feel bad for someone feeling left out. But after the summer he’d had, he supposed it was a natural reaction. 

A grin split Blaise’s face and a mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes as he clapped the boy on the back. “Then by all means, join us. You’ll have to do a dare of my choosing, though. It’s tradition. And be at the lake at 10 o’clock sharp!”

At that, Callum looked a little nervous but smiled anyway. “Alright. I can do that.” 

Before anyone else could say anything, Slughorn waltzed in and began speaking immediately in his boisterous way. He breezed through their first Potions lesson of the year, going over the various potions they’d be attempting to make over the next few weeks and the reading they’d have to complete to be prepared. Draco only half listened to the lecture, scribbling down notes when he ought to but not paying much attention other than that. Slughorn was dramatic and would go on for days if one let him, not to mention Potions was Draco’s best subject and he could pass it in his sleep. Even this advanced course.

He resolutely did not allow his eyes to wander around the classroom. He definitely did not allow his thoughts to wander to a certain wild-haired witch sitting in the very front of the room all the way to the left. He certainly did not think about her at all, and absolutely did not get annoyed with himself as to why the bloody hell she kept popping into his mind. It made his Occlumency ocean go wild, with curiosity and confusion. 

Class came to an end. Everyone gathered their things and rose to make their way to their next lesson. Draco was happy to be headed to Defense Against the Dark Arts, because it was a class he knew Theo would also be in with him. Tossing his book and supplies into his bag, he fell into step behind his best friend and headed towards the door. 

Silver eyes noticed Granger walking out the door with her face in a book, not paying any attention to the students milling about in her path. Most knew to get out of her way after so many years.

Draco almost smirked at the predictability, but then remembered he shouldn’t be thinking about her at all. 

He forced the mellow cotton puffs to stick to the dull blue sky inside his head. The waters were slowly churning, and Draco exhaled. He was starting to get a grasp on controlling himself again. On forcing calm circumstances in his mind. The walls of water were mellow but steady, ever moving and vigilant. Everything he didn’t want to feel was packed down under the sand, beneath the deep trenches of his internal sea. 

It was safest to keep himself in check and in line. A strange fascination with a Muggleborn would not do him any favors. 

By lunch, Draco felt more confident than he had in ages. If things kept this way, he could make it through the year mostly unscathed. 

He’d done a bang up job of his first day so far. He hadn’t gotten into any trouble and managed to ignore the contempt that radiated at him from most of the people in the castle. Pansy had mostly left him alone, but the day was still young.

All in all, it wasn't nearly as awful as he’d been expecting. It was the first of many to come in this vast, difficult year ahead of him. 

Draco’s fingers curled tighter around his wand. He hadn’t had much chance to test what it was capable of since it was the first day. 

The wand gave him a sense of peace, of purpose. Like no matter what, he wasn’t alone in all of this. 

And that was more than Draco had ever hoped for, so it would have to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> =]
> 
> The story is picking up! I know the Dramione pickup is slow, but it won't be long now! I also have nothing against any of the Slytherin side characters, any bad light they may be painted in is strictly for story purposes! Sorry this took so long, I had nothing to write on but I got a new computer. Constructive feedback and reviews welcomed and appreciated!


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